Unrecognized
by movieobsession
Summary: Harry, Ron and Hermione are faced with Voldemort rising, and DUmbledore getting sick. another character off in the distance watches RR
1. Begin the End

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from the book Harry Potter, though I have created some of my own and some of my own places. well. because I had to.  
  
A/N: The story has two "plots" in the beginning but they are going to meet later on and make sense. But every other chapter (basically, I will let you know if anything changes) is told from a certain perspective. This chapter is told from Harry's point of view, the next one will be the other person's POV. Kk? Please R/R! It's not my first fanfic, but my first serious one (my others are parodies). This story is not extremely happy (though there will be parts of happiness), get over it (  
  
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"I can't believe Snape gave us this much damn homework for over the summer. Five essays, FIVE! It completely ruined my summer. Mum wouldn't let me go to Egypt! She made me stay here with Fred and George. And she made us clean the whole time! Screw cleaning, it should rot in hell, along with Malfoy," Ron took a deep, revengeful breath.  
  
"Well, I think that you are completely over reacting." Stated Hermione, "Besides, it would do you some good to actually hand in all you homework, now that you are a Prefect. Don't you agree Harry?"  
  
"What?" he glanced up from what he had been staring, namely the ground.  
  
"I said don't you think." Hermione's voice slipped back out of Harry's thoughts. He wasn't concerned about Snape's homework. Or that fact that Mrs. Wesley was furious with Fred and George for leaving school and starting a joke shop. His scar was bothering him, as it did very often now. But it wasn't like last year; he no longer felt Voldemort's emotions. This was different. Powerful. The never-ceasing burn, fading in and out of sharp pains to slight dull throbbing, was always there.  
  
Dumbledore. He was sick, and to be sick is to be weak. With his scar burning, he feared an attack. Dumbledore the only wizard Voldemort feared was ailing. The headmaster was fully alert but it was eating him alive, the lack of sleep, the never-ending school demands, and then the threat of the next Dark Age looming on the horizon, it was piling up and was too much for one man to handle.  
  
"Harry? What's the matter?" a concerned voice weaved in and out of his ears. His face had turned to stone, worrying his friends. His eyebrows furrowed and he ignored them and concentrated more on solutions.  
  
How the hell can I help Dumbeldore? We need him more than we need anyone else, especially right now! Voldemort is rising, I know the signs, I can feel it through my scar.  
  
He got up and just began walking. He didn't notice his friends all staring at him, giving each other confused looks. He just walked, like a zombie, down Diagon Alley. He was so into his thoughts, he didn't notice the oddities about Diagon Alley from what it normally was. It didn't seem as cheerful a place, nothing did anymore. Of course, he was nearing Knockturn Alley but still, he remembered a sudden change from "happy" to "dark".  
  
They would be going back to Hogwarts this year, for their sixth year. It was going to be a great year. They were planning on acing everything imaginable and getting ready. Dumbledore wasn't supposed to get sick. Now all that remained at Hogwarts, that was as true as Dumbledore, was D.A. which still stood proud and strong. There was no way they would let Voldemort win this time. No way.  
  
All summer everyone in D.A. had spent their vacation in Diagon Alley, practicing in hidden corners and locked rooms. They worked hours on end perfecting spells from the Disarming Charm to the most complex hexs and jinxs. They were kept complete secret and all members remained loyal, even Fred and George cam in every other week or so to learn and contribute. The promised if there was ever a sign of danger, their joke shop was second.  
  
There was a reason it was kept secret though. If anyone found out about the army they would assume it was a cult, run by a miniature Voldemort, himself. Harry wondered if he really was. Everyone had coins in their pocket which burned when he needed them; Voldemort used the Deathmark on people's arms. He taught everyone dark curses used to injure people, which is essentially what the Death Eaters were trained to do also. What makes us any different than?  
  
Dumbledore, that's what. Or rather that is who. Dumbledore was the opposite of Voldemort. He wasn't evil. He believed and was on the good side, and his dream was to overthrow Voldemort but not so he could rule by people fearing his very name. The thought crossed Harry's mind again about Dumbledore being sick. The only wizard feared by Voldemort was sick. What would happen this year?  
  
He had reached the end of Diagon Alley, where it turned onto Flamer Lane. He turned back around and continued to walk. He saw the wizard people going about their normal business acting as though nothing was wrong. He passed a newsstand and picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet. The top Head line was about the Bunny Appreciation Week, funded by Punk Bunny Foundation.  
  
Whatever he thought I was stupid to think that Voldemort rising and the possible death to us all would be more important than. "punk bunnies".  
  
He was just wondering what punk bunnies were when suddenly he was surrounded, or it seemed he was. He looked and black looked people with their hoods all the way up and over their heads were scattered around him in every which way. He remained calm, but looked around, trying to find a way out. He ran to the nearest building and dashed up a flight of stairs.  
  
He yanked open a door and heard a squeal. He walked backwards when suddenly an arm wrapped around his neck. A wand was pointed at his neck. "Don't move" she said.  
  
He knew that voice, "Hermione?"  
  
"HARRY? What the fuck is your problem?!?!" she shouted, releasing him from her grasp.  
  
He turned, realizing why she had flipped out. Barely wrapped around her was a sheet which she appeared to have yanked off the bed when she heard her door open. Harry now realized where he was, her room she had been staying in while waiting for the start of the school year.  
  
"Hun, you don't have to be so uptight," he soothed, "no one knows where you are, remember? It's a hidden room."  
  
"Let me get dressed first, and then we will talk."  
  
Harry heard Hermione open her trunk and grab the pieces of clothing from the top. After a moment, she stated "Okay, I'm decent."  
  
He turned around a crossed the room, and sat down on her bed. She was in the bathroom mumbling to herself, with a hair-elastic in her mouth and a brush in one hand. She dropped the brush into the sink with a thud, and then twisted the elastic around her hair a few times. She came out of the bathroom, dressed in Muggle clothes. Her pair of iridescent navy-blue hip- huggers and a lavender spaghetti-strap tank top accented her tan, which she had acquired in Italy during the week long break from D.A. practice.  
  
Harry patted the bed, next to him, and she plopped herself down and hen flopped onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.  
  
"You feeling better?" Harry said with a deep look of concern on his face.  
  
"Yeah, I guess so. Most of the bruises are gone now."  
  
"Except for that huge purple bruise on your back I take it."  
  
She sighed, "Yes, and I still have one on my knee and another on my stomach. But they don't smart as much anymore, really."  
  
This summer hadn't been easy for Hermione, and Harry knew every bit of it and why. Some damn Italian fool had tried to jump her during her stay in Italy. She managed to get away, but could not escape the severe bruises and mental damage. He remembered how she had come home, her ride arriving around 11 o'clock at night. Dirty, tattered, and distraught. At first she locked herself in her room, allowing no one in. Eventually they (Ron and him) had coaxed her out of her room. Falling back into the flow of things, she still remained, completely on guard. He had also noticed she hadn't been sleeping as heavily as she used to, for she was always worn with bags under her eyes.  
  
"I don't think you fine. You haven't been sleeping, you barely ever eat, and you are still working your tail off for D.A. You shouldn't worry so much; if you haven't noticed Ron and I barely ever leave your side."  
  
"I'm sorry, I really am. It's just." she stammered as she sat up.  
  
"Just what?"  
  
"It was so frightening, and unpredictable. I never, ever want to be that unprepared and vulnerable. And what about Ron? How am I ever going to tell him? He still doesn't know. What if he thinks I'm stupid or weak or something."  
  
"You are not stupid, and one of the strongest people I know. As for Ron, he loves you unconditionally, he wouldn't care. He would help you."  
  
Hermione suddenly started to tremble. She looked small and fragile, completely unlike Hermione. Strands of her straightened mahogany hair had fallen out of her hair tie, framing her face. She stretched back, her tank top riding up slightly showing off her toned (and now tan) stomach. He reached around her shoulder and hugged her tightly because Harry knew she needed it.  
  
"Its okay sweetie, everything's gonna be okay. Just sleep for once, please? For me?"  
  
They sat there for over an hour, eventually Hermione fell asleep. Harry gently lowered her onto her bed, pulled her shirt down over her stomach as far as he could, and tucked her wand into her pants pocket. He tip-toed across the room, and silently shut the door after him.  
  
He walked down the stairs in a trance. Thoughts crowded his head again as he walked out the front door. He rounded a corner of a building and bumped into a very anxious and frantic Ron.  
  
"Where were you? Where is Hermione? What is going on???"  
  
"Ron, shh! Not so loudly! She is upstairs in her room asleep. I sat up there with her until she fell asleep, thought she nearly strangled me out of fear. I accidentally tried to hide in her room."  
  
"What's wrong with Hermione? Why is she so uptight lately? Why were you hiding?"  
  
Harry put his finger up to his mouth and glanced over his shoulder a few steps ahead of Ron, and motioned for him to follow.  
  
"These people in black cloaks were everywhere. Only one way out, and that was the Inn, thought at the time I didn't know it was the inn. Then I ran up into her room, and she was getting dressed and I didn't see her, but she saw me. She must have grabbed a sheet and wrapped it around herself before strangling me. Luckily I recognized her voice."  
  
"But why is she so like." he acted out a tense spastic motion.  
  
"I couldn't say."  
  
"Well, I am definitely determined to figure it out. wait! Do you think those cloaked people know about D.A.?"  
  
"I'm not sure," Harry said, "but if they do, then it's over."  
  
"Damn, I knew it was too good to be true. Everything was fine until."  
  
"Until we became friends basically," Harry finished his sentence for him, "face it, wherever I go danger and death follows."  
  
Ron didn't want to admit that he. well, that he was right, Harry could tell from the sad expression on his face.  
  
"It's okay, I don't mind it really. I understand I'm alone in this, no matter how many friends I have, I will always be alone. It's okay, really. I have the best friends and a wonderful girlfriend. I am fine only separated at times. There are things I have to do. on my own and in my own time. Look, this is or last week before school starts and I want to enjoy it. Besides, why are we so glum? We are leaving for Paris tomorrow! Come on, let's go get some coffee."  
  
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kk, that's all for now dudes and dudettes. I hope its okay, and ill accept anything as reviews. Kill it for all I care, need input. Much luv to all!  
  
-Aranel 


	2. International Sock Festical

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from the book Harry Potter, though I have created some of my own and some of my own places. well. because I had to.  
  
A/N: Kk, this is the second chapter and it's told from the other dudes POV.  
  
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The looming presence of dawn hung over the town. The street, peaceful and quiet, was reflecting the brilliance of the morning. Thin dewdrops cling to the grass, hung off of shutters, and covered porches. Sunlight shone through the drops and scattered, creating a spectrum of colours which projected onto the white houses.  
  
A certain white house stood out from all the other white houses. This one house wasn't all that quiet in the hour of dawn. Its lights poured out into the yard, dousing the street lamps.  
  
"DID YOU PACK ENOUGH POWDERED WORMROOT?" a woman, petite and in her mid 60's, hollered up the stairs in the direction of an open door above.  
  
"WHAT?" a shout omitted from above, her husband poked his head out the door, straining his voice above the blaring radio.  
  
"I SAID... OH FORGET IT! I'LL COME UP!"  
  
Pointing to his ear, the man signaled that he didn't hear what she had said. The athletic yet elderly women waved her hand for him to go back to whatever he was doing. She then turned around and took a few steps through a doorway and into the kitchen.  
  
Glancing around spacious kitchen, that had ample room for the habitants of the house, she checked to make sure all was okay. There was a large kitchen table that could seat six. With a very contemporary setting, the counters were a silver-steel and the floor and sparkling white vinyl. Orange lilies were scattered around, grouped in groups of 1 to three per vase. Thin silver vases that were enchanted to fill with water whenever it was running low held the gorgeous lilies and some ferns. Magically enhanced glass cabinets were along the walls above the counters, which showed the collections of dishes, but when in disarray, could turn a frosty glass to hide the mess.  
  
With a flick of her wand, she let the dishes from breakfast continue to wash themselves and with a 'pop!' dissaperated.  
  
She re-appeared upstairs right inside the doorway of the master bedroom with another quiet 'pop!'. It was another magnificent room, with a vaulted ceiling. The walls were a light teal colour with cherry wood accents. Pushed up against the wall, right across the room from a large picture window, was a cherry sleigh bed. Normally a beautiful comforter, a deeper shade of teal with even deeper teal accents, would be stretched out, covering the bed. Today, it was littered with robes, jars, bottles, assorted pieces of parchment maps and books. Two large trunks were set out in the middle of the floor, partially packed. The dresser was open, with clothes were flying out of it, folding themselves in the air, and then sweeping over and into the trunks.  
  
The old man, in his early 70's, was sitting hunched over a cherry desk. Strewn all over the desks were parchment pieces, broken quills, ink bottles, copies of The Daily Prophet and a few books. The compartments were full of letters, documents, and more parchment pieces. Directly above the desk was an open window with a sign outside saying "Mr. Marc" in gold engraved script, like an old tavern sign.  
  
"Yes Raspberrie?" he asked without looking up, aware of her presence. Scratch, scratch. He continued to write on the parchment roll.  
  
"I was wondering if we had powdered wormroot and if you had packed enough."  
  
"Yes, it's over th-"  
  
Suddenly an owl swooped down through the window, cutting Marc off in mid- sentence. He gestured towards the other side of room where a door stood while reading the letter.  
  
Raspberrie walked over to the door while Marc mumbled parts of the letter under his breath.  
  
"Alohamora" she said, pointing her wand at the door which swung open.  
  
"We must.... need it now... blah... the mission.... respond..." the mumbling dropped to silence as Raspberrie entered the other room.  
  
The large hexagonal shaped room was huge, with a ceiling around 30 feet high, and bookshelves going all the way up on five of the six sides. When she stepped through the doorway, the door closed, making the wall behind her a solid bookshelf. Directly across from her was a majestic window, all one piece of glass and underneath it was a green marble fireplace, with a crackling fire in it. There were many armchairs and tables, and two desks all littered with clutter.  
  
A large table was near the center of the room, on which many astronomy "night sky" maps were laid on. Currently the sky was lighting, the twinkling stars disappearing as night sky was replaced by the dawn. One the side of the hexagonal shape next to her, the bookshelf was full of parchment scrolls, sorted into cubbies, with labeled tags hanging off the ends. The other four bookshelves had books and scrolls mixed with bottles and jars, all the way up to around 25 feet, where the domed ceiling started. Rugs under a legal spell could hover above ground and be directed to a part of the room or bookshelf. Rugs were used because there was an Anti-Accio charm placed on the room. Accio could not be used because it could seriously mess up the organization.  
  
Raspberrie crossed the room and reached a podium stand with what could be mistaken as a dictionary but was, in fact, the catalog for all items on and around the shelves.  
  
"Powdered wormroot" she clearly announced to the book. The pages flipped by until landing on a page labeled Portal Dust to Prat-Potion. She looked down at the book, and her selection stood out above the black words, for it was glowing red. Beneath the word was location directory.  
  
"Good," she breathed "it's here". The word faded and stopped glowing. Raspberrie turned away and strode across the room to a rug. She stepped onto it and told it she needed the fourteenth shelf. The rug flew up about twelve feet above ground to a shelf lined with jars (some labeled, some not) or powders.  
  
"No... no... no, no... no" she stated, scanning the shelf for the wormroot. "Ah! Here it is" while picking up a jar that wasn't quite as dusty as others. Peering at it contents she decided it was enough.  
  
Once back outside the large study and library, she saw that the clothes had finished packing. The noise level had increased for it the radio was still blaring. She securely locked the trunks and then left the bedroom.  
  
"Sweetie! Can you PLEASE turn down the music?" a desperate shout came from down the hallway lined with plants and framed pictures.  
  
A teenage boy was sprawled across his bed, lying there listening to music, half asleep. He stirred at the sound of the shout, but didn't respond or even open his eyes.  
  
SLAM!  
  
Raspberrie slammed the off button on the radio. The boy jumped off the bed in surprise and whipped out his wand.  
  
"What the -"  
  
Then he saw that it was just his Grandmother. He lowered his wand and shoved it back into his pocket.  
  
"Have you finished packing yet?" his grandmother inquired, gazing around the messy room. A trunk lay on the floor, with only a broom and a few books inside. "I'll take that as a no" she said. The boy grabbed the closet pieces of clothing and shuffled into the bathroom to get ready.  
  
Through the bathroom door, the boy heard his grandmother, with a sigh, flicked start the packing herself. By the time to boy got out of the bathroom the robes, hats, pants, shirts, socks, books, potions, and all other items had all been packed, and the trunk locked.  
  
Staggering out of the bathroom and down the stairs, he reached the kitchen where he plopped himself down into a chair and slouched far down.  
  
"Sit up, sit up, sit up!" his Grandmother Raspberrie said briskly "you will have awful posture if you continue to do that slouching of yours." She whisked around the room, at one point dropping a plate of pancakes in front of him.  
  
"Accio syrup, accio milk, accio cup" the boy slurred and waved his wand weakly around. Too early, he said to himself way to early to be up and actually doing something that is. He ate his pancakes while his grandmother read the Daily Prophet.  
  
"Did you hear?" she asked.  
  
A mumble omitted from the direction of the half asleep boy, which Raspberrie presumed was a "hear what?"  
  
"About the whole scandal over in -" she started but her approaching husband was shouting.  
  
"Raspberrie honey, sonny, there has been a change of plans. We have to cancel our trip to the International Sock Festival."  
  
"REALLY?" the boy sat up excitedly at the news. "I mean, bummer, we can't go? I was really looking forward to it, you know I was!" To help convince Marc of his disappointment the boy pouted and flopped back into his chair.  
  
"Yes, sonny, yes I know. I am terribly sorry; instead we must go to Keystone Inn where I must attend some. business," Marc sadly stated.  
  
"Oh," sinking back down into the chair "we still have to go somewhere?"  
  
"Yes, yes I have already made arrangements for transportation. So I'll just stick these two trunks" he gestured to the front entry way where to two trunks, that had previously been in the master suite, were situated, "in the car. Sonny, you go and get yours and bring it on out to the vehicle."  
  
Step by step the boy jerkily moved himself upstairs, down the hall, and into his room. He contemplated locking himself in his room and refusing to go. But he found himself, a few minutes later, standing by the foot of the steps with his trunk. Shouts came from outside for him to get out to the car. He trudged out the door and down the front steps of the house and down the front walk, dragging his trunk wearily behind him.  
  
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So there is more of my shitty writing, ( ive had this all written so now I getting it online. Well ive got the rest of the story planned out and ive written random chapter but the next chapter isn't done yet. Until then much luv to all  
  
-Aranel 


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